


Had we but world enough and time

by shinobi93



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Established Relationship, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinobi93/pseuds/shinobi93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their story plays out, again and again, crossing centuries and still always ending the same way. Poins lives each life with the hope that one day it will change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had we but world enough and time

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for non-graphic character deaths (as that's the plot line) and alcohol abuse. Also misuse of historical time periods, probably.
> 
> I entirely blame alichay for this, for the idea and the encouragement.
> 
> Her awesome respective fic is here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/736581>

The first time it happens, it’s the worst thing ever. 

Like having a vital organ pulled out and being expected to keep on living. Poins gasps at the pain of the sensation, a ghost haunting his body and his soul. Nobody could understand. 1413: the old king is dead and he is alone. He sits in a tavern (he doesn’t know which one by this point), drinking and looking around moodily at its reveling customers. Women leer at him, interpreting his need for companionship. He turns from their gaze, thinking of those jokes Hal used to make, mocking comments about whores designed to avoid revealing the truth. Hal was evasive; now he’s evaded their friendship entirely. 

Years later, when the news comes from France, he’s still drinking. It stopped being enjoyable a long time ago; now it’s the ineffectual cure he can’t live without. Then again, there’s always things you think you can’t live without until they’re gone.

The second time, it’s confusing.

As soon as Poins sees the man on the streets of Cheapside, he knows. He doesn’t understand yet though. He follows the tall figure into a tavern and watches. It’s Hal and he’s Poins, but it’s neither of them, because this is 1590 and Poins doesn’t understand how he has all these memories all of a sudden. He would pass it off as nothing, a strange whim of his mind, but then the other man looks straight at him and there’s recognition, like he’s having the same problem. Hal comes over to talk to him and they have no choice. A voice in Poins’ head warns him what happened last time, but it’s too late.

Friends again. He’s a poor actor taking any little role he can and loitering around writers for the latest material; Hal’s the son of an earl having a youthful rebellion in the city. Unlikely companions, but not as unlikely as before. Poins gets used to the memory of a previous time, especially once the other part happens again too. Together in the shadows, in a locked room, all gasps and touches. Plenty of others do it, although nobody will admit so. Everything happens in this city.

That pivotal moment. He sees a flash of pain in Hal’s eyes as he remembers the last time. They can never see each other again: the earl is dead, so Hal is earl now. Poins thinks, it’s not king.

Again, the aftermath stings. Drink again, but also danger: it’s easy with the city as it is, full of brawling and cheating and spying. Only the other day, some playwright was murdered. Poins drinks beer and starts arguments. It’s not reckless; it’s just a different kind of survival.

The next few times, he starts to build up rules for himself.

The memories only come when he sees Hal. Once that happens, he remembers every other time, every other betrayal. Each occasion different and also the same. He wonders whether it’d be easier if Hal didn’t remember too, but he does. Hal’s always a few steps away from success, Poins a few steps from that existence he’s starting to get used to. Post-Hal.

They see the civil war (on different sides, of course they are) and the eighteenth century twice. He can’t get out. As soon as he remembers, he’s drawn to his friend, or more accurately his friend who isn’t his friend in this life yet. It will always end in their differences being too much, in Hal leaving and then dying because he’s a bastard like that. The moments of betrayal stack up: he can flick through them in his mind at will and hope for a better ending one day. Hal chooses the power and the glory over him every time.

Then, it’s different.

When he meets Hal in the nineteenth century, he’s frantic, panicked. Poins has only moments for the memories to rush back before he’s pulled into a building and up the stairs.

‘You’re here,’ states Hal breathlessly, grabbing onto him as if he’ll never let go. Poins remembers enough now to know that’s not true. The room’s small, but empty. The pictures of what they’ve done before in small, empty rooms flash in his head, marred by their inevitable conclusions. That brings him back to this time and the obvious question.

‘How did you know to look?’ he asks.

‘Unlike you, I always remember.’ Poins steps back, head spinning. This admission changes things.

He remembers afterwards, but Hal remembers before. Looks for him, even with the knowledge of what has happened every time so far. Knows all this, but still doesn’t change. The spark of hope stays, though, even this time when months rather than years later Poins is drinking gin in the arse-end of the city and waiting for the news that Hal is, once again, dead. Closure. Without the inevitable ending, he’d hope that this version of their story will have Hal rushing back to him, apologising profusely even though there aren’t words enough.

Hope is poisoning him in each lifetime, but it’s as much of a drug as the alcohol he always consumes once Hal is gone. The transcending memories are Hal, loss and changing tastes in drink. Patterns he can’t change.

By their meeting in 1913, another pattern has emerged that Poins cannot ignore any longer: their time is getting shorter, both together and apart.

He doesn’t mention it. It feels ominous and he’s learnt by now not to do anything to wipe Hal’s bright grin off his face before it will leave him in that life. That smile. He hates that smile. No, he should hate it. Every time it causes him nothing but pain, in the end. Nothing but the bottom of a glass and a desire to get that smile back, to get his friend back.

Maybe this time, Poins thinks, he’ll change. Hal knows what he does; surely one day it’ll be too much to do again? The moment comes once more, that look in Hal’s eyes more wracked with guilt than the last. Neither have long to worry this time, though. War is the great spectre that cuts even Poins’ customary descent into the gutter down to a flirt with whisky and a sudden ending.

He’s a child in the next war, but he doesn’t realise the significance until that day in 1956 on the streets of London.

‘Shit, it’s good to see you,’ says Hal, but there’s a tinge of desperation that the memories didn’t prepare Poins for. Are they changing, he wonders. Can they? It’s a dangerous thought.

Prowling the streets in the dark as mutters about missiles and the Soviets flesh the city in paranoia. He swears he sees Hal hesitate this time, as echoes of the past flutter before both their eyes. When it comes down to it, his friend can’t stay in the company of some lowlife thief’s son now, must take his place in proper society where there are rules and expectations. 

These rules don’t save him from being murdered a few weeks later, cleanly shot and dragged down some alley. Poins read the paper: apparently it was a robbery. The streets haven’t changed much, centuries later. He sits in a bar and wonders if there’s any risk of cumulative spiritual alcohol poisoning. Wouldn’t that be a punchline.

It becomes more frequent, like the universe is having a laugh.

A deafening club in the early 80s, a couple of months of friendship and music and whatever else excites them at the time. The whole atmosphere seems perfect for them: Poins feels like his hopes are being crushed and revitalised every night as they lose themselves together. Everybody feels the countdown here, not just them.

At least when he falls down, once Hal’s put on a suit and some responsibility, there’s people down at his level too, everywhere he goes. Winners and losers. There’s always next time.

Poins is standing on a tube platform when someone comes up behind him and whispers in his ear.

‘I won’t do it this time.’

The memories, again. It’s overwhelming for him with so many things to recall. He’s lost, now as well as then. He has no home and little money, just kicked out by his family, only in the city because some vague voice at the back of his head told him it’d be a good idea. Now he knows why.

Hal invites him to stay with him. Of course. Poins hesitates, listing the sheer number of reasons why he shouldn’t, but utters that word anyway. Yes. The smile comes back too. The memories never prepare him for how it looks in real life, that first time. Language and ideas and technology changes, but somehow they don’t.

Except, he hopes, maybe they could. This time, they talk about it. Before, they ignored the past as best they could, because they were terrified. The fear’s so bad now it’s gone full circle. They stand in a line outside a club and suddenly bring up that time in a coffee house in 1706 or that joke from the Elizabethan tavern. Endings aren’t everything. These middle details count too. Hal describes the fear in each life that he’ll never find his friend and in return Poins, after several drinks, explains what he does once Hal is gone.

It’s only a few weeks. Time’s being a bastard. Hal gets a call, which is so much more efficient than a frantic messenger.

‘My father’s dead.’

Poins waits for the inevitable. It doesn’t come.


End file.
